


Never Had Crepes

by terryreviews



Series: Ezira and Anthony [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Other, there are ellusions to wanting to commit suicide, you are being warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 04:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19738144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terryreviews/pseuds/terryreviews
Summary: The depths of the water called you as you stood at the railing preparing to fall. That's all it would take, just letting go. That's when you hear a polite "My Dear, I believe you are on the wrong side of the railing"Aziraphale is such a kind person. Of course, he's not just going to walk by someone about to jump.





	Never Had Crepes

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a friend over on tumblr and during a rough emotional patch for me. This is about Aziraphale comforting the reader and making them feel better. It is fanservicy in that regard. It also plays off my personal headcanon that Aziraphale gives the best hugs. And while that specific idea doesn't manifest fully, the sentiments around it do. Az is a very kind being and really does care. Not just because he is an angel. And he really does want to prevent someone from making such a big mistake that suicide is.
> 
> This takes place after the apocalypse that wasn't and his alias is Ezira Fell. There are also nods to a drabble yet to be written about Reader/Crowley but that drabble is of a different nature than this one.
> 
> I wasn't originally going to post this here, but at request, I decided I would.

Being discovered hadn’t even occurred to you. Yes, this was a public park, but it was three in the morning. The odd amorous couple or drug dealer you expected. They wanted to be left the hell alone just like you.

If you wanted spectacle, you would have come during the day while moms with their kids fed the ducks.

You held the railing, leaned forward, and let out a breath. Instinctively, you wanted to hold your breath, but that would prolong it. Looking down, you saw the water. Still and waiting. All you had to do was let go and be embraced by the encompassing cool and dark.

As your fingers began to loosen, a quiet and near upbeat,

“My dear, I believe you are on the wrong side of the railing,”

gave you pause.

You turned your head and saw a middle aged man dressed head to toe in white and creme colored finery. Under an old fashioned top hat, hair that was so blonde it was near white, peeked around the edges. His entire form and face exuded warmth and comfort with their roundness and kind smile.

Upon seeing him, a potent rush of calm filled you to the core and eased your mind, rendering the chaos within mute. He held out a gloved hand. After a hesitation, your’s found it.

After a brief, and silent, walk, you stood in the foyer of the man’s bookshop. Once inside, he began puttering around, hanging up his coat and hat whilst chatting.

“Yes, much better indoors I think. Rather cold morning. Don’t worry dear, we’ll get you warmed up in no time. How about a cup of tea,” you must have made a face because he said, “or perhaps a strong cup of hot chocolate. Ah, yes.”

He took your arm and led you towards the back of the shop, “do come in dear. Settle into a chair, I won’t be a moment.”

Once you plopped, stunned, into a chair, the man gave a pat to your shoulder and left.

Give a minute, you looked around to gain your barrings. The shop was old, dim and cluttered like any good used bookshop would be. In this little back room there was a well worn sofa, the chair you were currently seated in, and a small, overstuffed desk with an antique rotary phone on it. The small coffee table stacked with newspapers and magazines. All so simple and antiquated.

The rattle of porcelain alerted you to the man’s return. Upon a silver tray was a tea pot with matching cup and saucer, a generous white mug topped with a mountain of whipped cream.

He set the tray precariously on his desk before bringing you your drink, which you accepted with a whispered thanks.

He took the desk’s chair across from you and, with perfect poise, sipped his tea. The observation _very English_ passed through your thoughts.

For a while, neither of you spoke. While silences like these were often fraught with discomfort, this was pleasant. No pressure to fill the air with small talk that, under the circumstance, would be hollow to say the least.

He, on occasion, would smile at you and make absent minded commentary on a thought that came and went, with no implied demand that you answer. It was easy and he had a nice voice.

“I happened to notice,” his blue eyes truly focusing on you as, for the first time in the half hour you’d been there, his idle chat turned towards you, “that your necklace is a little book.”

You looked down and saw the square pendant against your shirt. You completely forgot it was there and, for a moment, had a pang of guilt for wearing it in the presence of an enthusiastic bibliophile. You hadn’t done much reading lately.

“Is it a specific title?”

Despite your odd mood, simultaneously dark and numb, you smiled. Just a twitch of your lips in light of the man’s excitement.

“It’s Dracula.”

“Ooo, bit spooky for my tastes but still quite entertaining.” He wiggled and leaned forward to indicate full attention given, “what do you like about the book?”

You paused to think (reflecting just how adorable the man’s wiggle and use of spooky were). Finally, you lifted your mug to your lips, you had ignored it up until now. Miraculously, the drink was still hot and the cream hadn’t melted into the liquid. The mug must’ve been insulated.

“I…” you floundered before finishing weakly, “there are a lot of things.”

“Tell me,” the man, so open and eager. It was gratifying, if unfamiliar, to have someone’s attention like this.

“Um…this is really goo by the way.” In fact, it was the best hot chocolate you’d ever had. Given it was probably just Swiss Miss, you didn’t say anything for fear of being dramatic. In truth, it was probably a combination of the col and the gesture in and of itself in making it for you that made it taste so good.

“I’m very glad you like it.” Politely not commenting on the change in topic.

Yet, you found yourself _wanting_ to answer his question. Not because you were particularly up for a long literary discussion, but because he had asked you so nicely.

You cleared your throat, “I guess I like…how unapologetic ally monstrous the vampires are. How clever and devious. They are the most basic, pure, form of an evil power fantasy. And I kind of like that. I like that basic, simple, villain to focus on every now and again. We live in a world of nuance. Everyone’s got a back story and most of the time that is fun and fascinating. Sometimes though, I just like my villains to be simple and _spooky_.”

He chuckled.

There was more to it. A lot more. You could talk about the elements of suspense and horror, the historical context, Christianity, Gothic literature and how this novel reflected and expanded the genre, but you shoved your mug to your mouth and took a long swig instead.

When he said nothing futher, pouring himself a cup of tea, you got the impression he was leaving an opportunity for you to talk, let you take the lead. Only if you wanted. You felt under no obligation but, again, it was nice to have someone so interested in talking to you and, more importantly, to listen.

“Do you have a favorite book?” You asked and with a few quick, large, gulps, polished off the rest of your drink, holding your mug in your lap.

“I’m fond of several authors. Shakespeare for one.”

You nodded your head, hoping that he wasn’t about you ask you what you thought on Shakespeare. You respected the work and what it had done collectively for literature and inspiration, but you weren’t fond of the works. You felt they were over rated, long, boring texts that, while important and you respected them, you wouldn’t be picking up again any time soon. You read enough Shakespeare in high school and college to be sick of the name.

“Classic literature do it for you?”

“Oh yes. Not all of the works mind, but I do have a fondness for older literature in general.”

“Cool,” you gave a small nod, and fell silent once again.

“Would you like another cup?” He asked, breaking up the void of noise once again before it could build.

“No thank you. I…I think I actually should be heading home.”

“If you must be going, I suppose that can’t be helped,” he looked towards a clock on his desk, “but wouldn’t you rather stay until it was light out? It would be safer and, while not warm given the time of year, warmer. You don’t even have a jacket. And, if I may tempt you, if you wait another few hours or so, my friend and I usually get breakfast together. There is this charming eatery I’d simply love to introduce you to.”

You blinked, “I…what even is your name?” In the blur of emotions and chit chat, you hadn’t even asked him his name.

“Ezra Fell.”

“That’s a really neat name.”

“Thank you,” he preened, “and what is your name my dear?”

“Y/N,” and just as you replied you felt that wave of calm again, coupled with fatigue. In truth, you hadn’t slept nor eaten in several days. The hot chocolate in your gut was the only thing sloshing around in there. At the mention of food, possibly gotten with Mr. Fell, your insides gave a little squirm.

“But I don’t have money.” You didn’t have much of anything on you save one note in a sandwich bag.

“Did I ask if you had money?” The chiding tone pinked your cheeks and you looked away hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“It isn’t imposing if I invited you.” He got up then, “Of course, if you have somewhere else to be?”

“Nah,” you shrugged, “I lost my job so I don’t have that. I don’t really have any other plans either.”

He offered a sympathetic smile, “I am sorry to hear that. I’m sure something will turn up,” he went behind you towards the sofa and pulled from behind it a pillow and blanket.

“Since we are waiting, perhaps you’d like a nap?”

Your jaw dropped a fraction, “you’d just let a stranger sleep on your couch?” You _were_ very tired though.

“Why not? It isn’t as if you’d make an attack on my virtue is it?”

“Not unless you wanted me to,” you mumbled.

“I didn’t catch that dear.”

“Nothing! I…I mean…if you’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I weren’t. Now come and make yourself comfortable. I’ll wake you for breakfast.”

You curled up on the sofa, plush blanket pulled over your head. While sleeping in jeans, socks and shirt wasn’t idle, none the less you were relaxed. All the fatique crept into your limbs and within moments you were drifting.

“Ooomph!” You grunted as the wind was knocked out of you, jarring you from sleep.

“What the hell?” You heard someone above you say before whatever was on you was suddenly off and the blanket tugged off your head.

“Angel! Are you aware you have a squatter?”

It took a bit for your eyes to adjust and you let out a meep.

“Anthony!”

The man turned back toward you and upon recognizing you, grinned.

“Oh, _hello_ Y/N.”

“You two know each other?” Aziraphale swept into the room, adjust his coat.

“Intimately,” Anthony let his tongue touch his top lip and you had to repress the sudden flood of memories and urge to giggle.

If Ezira understood the implication, he didn’t let on, chiming in with an upbeat, “good, saves me from making introductions. How did you sleep Y/N?”

In that moment, you were a whole host of things. Alert, warm, mortified and aroused at seeing Anthony again, and yet, as you sat there, a lot of it boiled down to _content_.

“Good. Thank you,” you swung your feet out of the blanket and sat up, popping and stretching as you went, ignoring Anthony’s unashamed staring as you did so.

Ezira continued on, talking directly to Anthony, “I’ve invited this young lady to breakfast with us, I hope that’s alright.”

“More than alright angel,” Anthony pushed his hands into his skinny jeans’ pocket and said, “where are we going?”

“That little place we went to two weeks ago.”

“Mm, good coffee.”

You slipped on your sneakers and stood, shivering at the loss of heat.

It had been cold earlier that morning too. The air misty and the moisture damp on your skin. You hadn’t care then. You like the cold and after a while you’d become unaware of it. Even when you came into he shop and the hot smack of heated air against your skin, you paid it very little attention, focused on the surreal of the situation you had found yourself.

Now, you weren’t just cold. You felt clammy, skin coated in a fine layer of sweat that undermined your shivers. Your throat prickled and your head was drowsy. Great.

“Let’s go.” Anthony turned on his heel and headed towards the front door, Ezira and then you in tow.

Outside was cold and you winced, remembering that you were in nothing but a tee shirt and ratty jeans. Both men side longed you but before they could say anything you went up to the Bentley. Anthony held the door open for you and winked as you climbed into the back as if to say _remember_? You did and you were, silly enough, surprised that it didn’t smell like sex still.

Once you were all settled, the car roared to life and you were off.

Either Anthony was a really good driver or some force moved every single obstacle out of the way, but in either case he was going ninety miles down central London, much to your reckless enjoyment and Ezira’s distress.

“You need to slow down and watch the road! Red light! Red light!”

All the while, Queen blared out on the radio. Backdrop to their bickering.

All too soon you were parked in front of the eatery. A white brick building with friendly signs beckoning you in. Once again, the door was opened for you, this time by Ezira and you gave a polite, if bashful, nod.

Both of you then got into a bit of a tussle at the door, trying to usher the other into the building. It lasted barely a second before Anthony came from behind and pushed you both in (causing you to laugh).

At the smell of sweet and savory, your stomach gave an audible gurgle and both of them look at you.

“Sorry.” You wanted to pull your shirt over your head.

“Do you like fruit my dear?” Ezira asked, pointing toward the menu to guide your eye. A set of colorful photos of crepes caught it.

“I’ve never had a crepe before.” You jumped when you heard Ezira’s gasp.

“Oh, then I insist. Find a table with Crowley and I’ll place our order. I know what you want dearest,” he nodded at Anthony, “and do you trust me to pick something for you?’

“I didn’t wake up sticky and sore so yeah I do.”

Anthony laughed and Ezira muttered an _oh really now_ before you followed the other to a booth near the window.

You were across from one another and Anthony practically leered at you, the tip of his boot grazed your calf. You didn’t pull away.

“So is it Anthony or Crowley?”

“Anthony J Crowley actually.”

“Why does Ezira call you by your last name?”

“He calls me many things,” Anthony shrugged, “some of which you are familiar.”

At your raised eyebrow Anthony took on a breathy voice, “oh yes, right there. So good.” He laughed at your scandalized expression and light swat to his arm as you forced your own laugh down.

Truthfully, you liked his playful, blunt, personality and sexual humor. It clashed fantastically against the sweet, gentle, chaste Ezira’s. And while it was a bit surprising to hear that they were together, they made a wonderful odd couple.

“Small world though eh?” He said, “we met…what was it a year ago? And now you two meet. Did you hook up too?” He drawled as if picturing you and Ezira together was a treat.

“Noooo,” you rolled your eyes, “he gave me hot chocolate and had me take a nap.”

Anthony snorted and looked over to where Ezira was still in line, “that’s definitely _him_.” A tangible wave of fondness radiated off of him.

“Awe, you love him a lot don’t you?”

“Shut up,” he kicked you gently before going back to rubbing.

Ezira came over with a tray. Three drink, 2 crepes, napkins, and plastic silverware atop.

“Here we are. Black coffee for you. Crepes for you and I.” He dished out the aforementioned items before sliding into the booth next to you. “I got you a cup of chocolate milk, they didn’t have hot chocolate. I hope that’s alright.”

You stared at your plate before staring at him, beaming.

“I didn’t pay for it, so it is more than alright. You could’ve gotten me a plate of raw broccoli and I would’ve choked it down with a smile. So, thank you.”

“Not at all,” Ezira said before turning his attention to his food, carefully using his fork and knife to pierce the crust of his desert like breakfast.

You took your own fork and punctured the pastry (topped with cream and chocolate sauce) loving the juicy red strawberries dripping out. Scooping up a massive mouthful, you bent your head and caught it all in your mouth, stretching your cheeks to accommodate it.

It was delicious. Maybe it was the few days without food, or the fact that it was flavored with the kindness of another, but the flavors washed over your tongue. Sweet, chocolatey, fruity. You held a hand in front of your mouth so you could chew without being disgusting.

Ezira dabbed his lips with a napkin before asking, “like it?’

Unable to speak you nodded fiercely earning a soft chuckle from your companions.

While it kind of hurt, you damn near inhaled your meal and drink. It was both tasty and once it was inside your belly you wanted more. It felt like you had been punched in the stomach, but it was a wonderful ache.

You were back outside in no time standing next to the Bentley.

“Thank you again,” you said. Feeling you had already over stayed your welcome, you told them you were going to head home. You could have sworn both of them pouted.

“Are you sure? I think I speak for both of us in saying that we’d love to spend more time with you.” You got the feeling that Ezira just wanted to keep an eye on you. He didn’t need to. At least, not right now.

“Nah, I’ve already bothered you enough.”

Ezira made a face, “you are most definitely not a bother.” The tone stronger than you thought possible. Like a father scolding a child who had come out of danger unscathed and yet still needed to be reprimanded (with love of course).

You looked down, “thanks,” and shuffled your foot.”

A powerful gust swept through and you wrapped your arms around your body.

You felt something on your shoulders and lifted your head to find Anthony had taken off his jacket and draped it over them. You gaped like a goldfish.

“If you’re going to be walking, might as well be warm.”

“But I can’t take your jacket.”

“You’re not, that’s a three hundred pound jacket. I’m lending it to you,” he smirked.

“You’ll have to stop by the shop to return it at some point,” Ezira chimed in.

You stood there for what felt like minutes but was probably seconds before you wrapped your arms around their middles (you were too short to wrap around both their necks) and buried your face into Ezira’s chest while bunching your hand in the fabric of Anthony’s shirt. Tears burning at your clenched eyelids.

You coughed, the prickle in your throat starting to burn, and whispered, “really…thank you.”

You yanked away and without looking back, ran in the opposite direction they were going to go, slipping your arms into the sleeves of Anthony’s jacket, loving that it was just that much longer than you were and savored the warmth that lingered on it from them.

As you walked past a garbage can, you reached into your pocket and grabbed the little note there. Holding it in your fingers for a second, you then let it go to join the rest of the trash. Hey, despite the cold you were definitely going to have, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad day after all. If it were though, you still had to return Anthony’s jacket after all.


End file.
